


New Allies

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow Oneshots [9]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Besotted Martin, Dishonored AU, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Grumpy Daud, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Resolving anxieties, Self-Doubt, Snarky Corvo, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: While waiting for Campbell's code to be translated, the unfamiliarity of the Hound Pits pub and its residents is giving Daud a crisis of confidence.And the Overseer's apparent interest in Corvo isn't helping matters.





	1. A crisis of confidence

**Author's Note:**

> A small prelude to Little Crow's sequel series.
> 
> Set after ch. 4 of Blank Canvas.

Being under the Overseer’s scrutiny was beginning to unnerve him. Daud had to keep reminding himself that Teague Martin, the enemy under different circumstances, was now an ally. It didn’t help that the man insisted on wearing that damned Abbey uniform around the pub. A dozen times had Daud’s fingers twitched towards his sword when the trademark golden hem of Martin’s robes came into view.

Across the courtyard, the assassin felt his lip curl in disgust at the sight, and he averted his scowl from Martin’s matching sneer.

What was most surprising, Daud had realised, was that he loathed the man himself more than he loathed his Overseer title. Martin was a snake, in every sense of the word. Cunning, sharp-tongued and sharp-eyed. Daud had made it his personal mission to keep as much of a watch on the Overseer as Martin was keeping on him.

Daud indulged in a drag of his cigarette, and tried working some of the tension from his shoulders. He knew he was probably thinking too much into this. The Overseer hadn’t done anything heinous or overly suspicious, hadn’t done wrong to any of his men. Yet.

 _You’re overreacting._  A voice, unmistakably Corvo’s, wormed its way into his head without preamble. “Shut up,” Daud bit out as a response.

He felt Aeolos shuffle at his side. “Sir?”

Daud grumbled that it was nothing, appreciating that he must have looked stir crazy. Maybe he was. They were, after all, in unfamiliar territory, with only a dozen Whalers on guard around the area. And another glimpse across the courtyard let Daud know that he remained the victim of Martin’s serpent-like gaze. It was all enough to knock even the most disciplined of men _a little_  off their game.

He wondered vaguely whether hagfish would enjoy the taste of Overseer.

“He’s watching us.”

“Very astute, Aeolos,” Daud answered, tone bitter.

“He has been since we made the deal with the Admiral.”

Almost a week ago, now. And the child Empress still hadn’t been found. Although progress had been made in deciphering Campbell’s journal. Daud had to hand it to Martin; when it came to the Abbey’s secrets, the man knew his stuff. Though Daud was convinced, had his own men as much knowledge of Campbell’s code as the Overseer, they’d have translated its pages long before now.

“His attention seems particularly devoted to Attano, when he’s around.”

If Daud’s grip tightened, cigarette crumpling between thumb and forefinger, he chose to ignore it in favour of staring at the young novice.

Aeolos tactfully avoided his gaze, back straight and arms folded behind. “Just thought you should know, Sir. If you hadn’t noticed already, of course.”

Daud had a few retorts held between his teeth – that Corvo could take care of himself, that perhaps they should remove themselves from the alliance altogether, that it might be for the best if they did decide to throw Martin to the hagfish – and instead leaned his elbows down on the rooftop’s metal railings.

“What would you suggest, then?” he challenged.

He’d had reserves about allowing a novice here, especially one as young as Aeolos, but this was a special case. The Whaler’s instincts were second to none, and Daud needed the most able men he had at his back among a conspiracy like this.

“You think the Overseer’s planning something? Moving against us?”

An amused cough was his answer. “Not that kind of attention, Sir.”

Daud was ashamed to admit - just for a moment so he told himself - that the threat of somebody plotting against them was preferable to the threat of a contender for Corvo’s affections. And the rational part of him knew Aeolos’ observations weren’t wrong. On several occasions, Martin’s gaze had lingered on Corvo for too long.

But the pettier side of him paid that logic no heed, and he found himself grunting, “Don’t be absurd.”

Aeolos hummed. “You might want to bring it up with him, Sir,” the Whaler responded after a moment. “Just in case. Attano’s quite clever, but in these types of matters, I’ve noticed he can be a bit... lacking.”

Daud confessed _that,_ at least, was true. He doubted Corvo had ever considered how he looked, let alone the effect he had. It was both frustrating and endearing in its own way.

“Stay at your post,” Daud ordered gruffly, moving to the edge of the roof.

Aeolos called after him, “Are you going to find Attano?”

“No,” he snapped, transversing into the courtyard below. “Stay at your post,” he repeated for good measure.

Martin shot him a glare when he passed by. Daud returned in kind as he stalked towards the pub, satisfied when the Overseer resumed his conversation with Pendleton’s manservant.

“Good afternoon, Sir!” Inside the bar, Thomas shot up from one of the booths, standing to attention.

“Thomas.” Daud raised an eyebrow when he noticed the Whaler’s companion. “Miss Curnow,” he greeted.

Callista granted him a tight-lipped smile. Daud knew the Captain’s niece wasn’t particularly eager to be working with their kind. But she was civil with them, at the very least, and always acted warmly towards Corvo. Daud suspected that someone amongst his men had mentioned how her uncle survived his trip to Holger Square.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Daud continued, silently savouring the way his lieutenant’s face reddened. Thomas had been shy around the governess since their first meeting, and Daud was almost ashamed at how much amusement he took in seeing the man so uncharacteristically flustered.

He left the pair be, and allowed himself to be beckoned towards Arden’s booth. He slid in beside Leonid.

The young woman nodded in his direction. “Sir.”

Vladko’s nod was barely a nod at all; more a slight jerk of his head.

“What brings you here, Boss?” Arden asked, lips moving around his cigarette. “Thought you were keepin' an eye on the pup.”

“Shouldn’t call them pups,” Leonid reminded him.

“The ‘pup’ was grating on my nerves,” Daud replied grimly. “Aeolos has some rather forthright opinions about that Overseer.”

“Some hearsay, eh?” Arden grinned. “Shame Galia ain’t here, girl’s always keen for a good rumour. Do tell.”

“Arden,” Leonid warned.

Arden brushed her off, undaunted as ever in the face of Daud’s irritation. “C’mon, Sir,” he coaxed, grin widening. “Give us the goods.”

Daud’s jaw tightened. His uncertainty of Martin and his need for a second opinion had brought him here, of course. Brought him to these idiots. But they were idiots that Daud knew he could trust above all else. And his yearning for validation over Aeolos’ suspicions had him swallowing some of his pride.

 _Tell them_.

“Aeolos seems to...”

_Don’t be a damned child. Spit it out._

“Seems to believe that...”

_Outsider’s eyes._

“Aeolos believes the Overseer may have an interest in–”

“Corvo,” Vladko finished for him, unfazed when Daud’s scowl bore down on him from across the table. “Yes. We know.”

Arden blinked at him. “Do we?”

“We do,” Leonid agreed.

“You’re jokin'.” Arden’s cigarette had slipped from his mouth, dirtying ash onto the tabletop. “No way that cultist bastard’s got his eyes on Attano. I would’ve noticed. Or at least Quinn fuckin' would’ve.”

Leonid levelled him with a steady stare. “Then you’re both obviously blind.”

“Fuck off. And how would you know 'bout that stuff, anyway,” Arden challenged. “You ain’t into that kind of shite.”

“I know,” Leonid said simply.

“She predicted Jordan and Galia.”

Arden barked a laugh, whacking Vladko on the back. “Vlad, any mudlark under the bloody sun knew those two’d end up knockin' boots.”

“No,” Leonid corrected. “They couldn't stand each other at first.”

Vladko nodded. “So it seemed. But not long after Galia joined us, Leonid said Jordan would admit he actually liked her before the month was over. That was eight years ago. Now they’re getting married."

"So I know,” Leonid repeated. She turned back to Daud, either unmindful or uncaring of his bewildered expression as he listened to them all. “Corvo’s ignorant. He won’t realise. Talk to him.”

In these moments, Daud expected Leonid could give even Corvo’s frankness a run for its coin. But the words caused something unpleasant to settle in the pit of his stomach and _squeeze._

“Where is he?” he asked Leonid quietly.

“With Piero.”

He chose an opening in Arden and Vladko’s following argument to slip away and return outside.

Martin was still where he’d left him. Standing in the sun in his cursed Abbey robes. Daud wanted him to burst into flames. Perhaps then he’d jump into the river to dispel them, and meet his demise as a hagfish’s breakfast after all.

Daud knew it was foolish, harbouring so much distrust because of one Overseer. The few others based at the Hound Pits – the Admiral, the Watch Captain’s niece, most of the servants – were pleasant enough company, especially considering some of the people Daud had worked with in the past. He and Havelock were likeminded; men of action, plain-speaking, dedicated to their work. One of the maids, Lydia, was nice enough that if Daud was less obstinate a man, he’d admit to growing rather fond of her.

And if Daud was less obstinate a man, he’d acknowledge that his personal aversion to Martin was clouding his judgement of the conspiracy as a whole. But he had been obstinate for thirty five years now; a little too late to consider changing. So his desire to cut the Overseer’s tongue from his jaw and his eyes from their sockets continued to burn steadily as he entered the workshop.

He heard Piero’s babbling before the inventor himself descended the stairs. Skull-like mask in one hand, Piero tinkered away with a screwdriver in the other, muttering to himself and tightening a bolt in one of the optic lenses.

“One more here....” He clicked his teeth, inspecting his work. “And.... there! Just a loose attachment underneath the lens. The scope enhancement should work more smoothly now.”

“Good.” Corvo, perched near the overhead drill, took the mask when Piero passed it his way. Daud leaned at the entrance and watched while Corvo’s dark eyes took in the inventor’s handiwork, seeming satisfied. “Though I still don’t see why I have to wear it.”

“At Admiral Havelock’s request,” Piero answered distractedly, already fiddling with another device, “we can’t have you being recognised if you’re seen. I seem to recall that’s how he phrased it.”

“I’m never seen,” Corvo muttered. “And my whaling mask would work just as well as this pointless thing.” But he was careful when storing the mask back in its rightful place at the back of the workshop.

“Did you need something, Master Daud?” Piero addressed him without once glancing up. Daud tried to disregard the chill it gave him.

The inventor was a mystery to him. Daud couldn’t begin to fathom how his mind worked, and he had comfortably resigned himself not to try. Some mysteries, he had decided of late, were better left alone.

“Your opinion,” he said to Corvo instead, turning to leave and motioning for him to follow. “Void knows, I’ve had enough of Aeolos’ and Leonid’s this morning,” he added under his breath.

He wasn’t doing this in front of Piero, or anyone else if he could help it. Void knew, mentioning such a thing in front of _Arden_ had been difficult enough. This was something he would discuss with Corvo, alone and as delicately as possible. He only hoped the man would have more mercy on him than Leonid had.

Daud circled around the outside of the workshop, heading to the lookout spot beneath the pub’s neighbouring tower. He felt securer there; it was isolated, hidden from the rest of the Hound Pits.

Corvo settled beside him, resting his arms on the stone barrier at the edge of the pathway. He looked out across Wrenhaven, to the other half of the city. “You’re troubled.”

Daud gave a questioning grunt.

Corvo side eyed him. “You wanted my opinion.”

 _Smug bastard._ “On whether we should send for more men from Rudshore,” Daud clarified. He was stalling, and he knew it. He needed time to broach the subject, and when he couldn’t think, he talked about work. “Twelve may not be enough. If that Overseer decides to double-cross us, or if one of the maids becomes scared and exposes us to the Watch, we’ll need–”

“You’re overreacting.”

And there it was. Daud couldn’t hold back a chuckle, no matter how disinclined it was. “How did I know you would say that.”

“Because you know it’s true.” Corvo turned to lean on the stone wall, taking Daud’s chin and angling his gaze down to him. “You’re on edge. Don’t patronise me by trying to hide it.”

Daud opened his mouth to retort, but Corvo’s lips pressed briefly against his, silencing him. Why did things like that, small touches he had never in his life expected to need, still make his heart ache so much?

“Remember, it’s your stubbornness that put you here,” Corvo reminded him. “You could have been on a beach in Serkonos by now.”

An image formed in Daud’s mind, not for the first time in the past few weeks. A house, near the coast perhaps, nothing large or fancy, a fireplace, a pot for making coffee, him and Corvo making idle talk about the weather and reading the morning paper and growing old with each other–

“At least it would be warmer.”

“So it would,” Corvo smiled dryly, amused, and he turned back to watch the river. “Maybe you should go then, wait for me in Karnaca or Cullero till I’ve finished things here.”

He was joking, of course. But the mere thought of leaving Corvo here caused a painful tightness to spread through Daud’s chest. “I couldn’t do that.”

Corvo’s shoulder bumped his own. “I know you wouldn’t.”

 _Couldn’t_ , Daud corrected in his head, but he kept the notion to himself.

“I don’t like it here either, but only Martin can translate the journal,” Corvo continued, and Daud tried to quash the displeasure that surfaced when the Overseer’s name rolled off Corvo’s tongue. “We need them.”

Daud knew that. He did. The Loyalists were crucial in discovering Emily’s location and eventually toppling the Lord Regent’s control of the city. But a selfish, petty voice kept telling him to take his men as far from these conspirators as possible, and Corvo twice as far from that Overseer. He wanted the familiarity of Rudshore, where he knew every corner and vantage point, every strength and weakness. After everything that had happened with Delilah, he wanted to know his men were safe. That Corvo was with _him._

Corvo’s boot nudged his. Playful. Reassuring. “Did you want to discuss anything else?” Daud felt his heart leap into his throat.

 _Yes._ _Tell him. He needs to know_.

“Yes. I did. I do.” He cleared his throat.

_Why did it suddenly feel like his mouth was full of sand?_

“There’s something...”

_Tell him. It will put both your minds at ease._

“I wanted to...”

_What if you tell him, and he’d rather share Martin’s bed? Why risk it? Look at him. He could have anyone. He could have Martin, so easily. Silver-tongued, unscarred Martin. It would be so easy to leave you–_

“It doesn’t matter.”

_Coward._

“Daud. Look at me.” Corvo clearly didn’t believe him, but he didn’t try and press him. Of course he didn’t. Daud almost wished he would. “We’ll make things work here.” The determination behind his eyes was plain and simple. “We’ll be okay.”

And during the rest of the day, when he checked in with his men, or smoked with Samuel near the river, or caught Celia knocking on the door as a prank and promised not to rat her out to the Admiral, Daud repeated those last three words in his head, and, for a while at least, believed them.


	2. A puzzling ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo isn't sure what to make of Martin.

“This tea tastes like watered down piss,” Jenkins complained, swaying back boredly on two legs of his stool. “I miss Hobson's breakfasts. Folk 'round here can't cook for shit.”

"Then you should have stayed in Rudshore," Thomas sighed, rubbing his temples. He looked like he'd aged ten years since Jenkins' complaints had _begun,_  and the sun had only risen an hour hence. “Stop griping on, if you would."

"If you can," Corvo added.

“Bollocks should I have stayed in Rudshore. You’d all be lost without me here.”

“I have a feeling we’d survive.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jenkins said, flashing Thomas grin. “You lousy choffers need me.”

Aeolos, cleaning a whisky tumbler with a dish rag, quirked an eyebrow at Jenkins over the bar. “Yes, what a loss we’d be at without your loud mouth.”

“Shut your gob, pup.”

Corvo managed to drone out the bickering that followed, focusing instead on the book that rested on his thigh. Perching on another rickety stool at the bar, he turned a few pages through Martin’s translations of the High Overseer code. Something about _the girls_ here, a comment about _more guards_ there.

“Not trying to decipher it yourself again, are you?” Thomas asked.

“Checking the translations. Martin could’ve missed something.” Corvo glanced at him, “Should it be taking him this long?”

Thomas chuckled; a rare sight and sound alike. “You’re too impatient.”

“And you have the patience of a saint. Don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s not easy with you lot, I’ll admit. I’m sure it won’t be long now. While I was unwilling to rely on him, the Overseer seems to know what he’s doing.”

Corvo supposed he had a point. Martin had gotten further with Campbell’s book in a week than Chester had in one month. And little by little, evidence of Emily’s whereabouts was beginning to emerge, although nothing solid enough to give them a clear location. But Corvo doubted it would be long now, and when the time came, he’d be ready to find her.

All that could be done in the meantime was try and get used to their situation here. The Hound Pits pub wasn’t an ideal base of operations for a conspiracy, but they had to make the best of what they had for now.

From the corner of his eye, Corvo noticed Lydia bustle past with a cup of tea in hand. “That for Samuel?”

The maid stopped in her tracks. “Certainly is. I thought he could use something to keep his strength up. Poor man's been working on that worn-down old riverboat all morning.”

“I’ll take it.” Corvo slid Campbell’s book across the bar to Aeolos for safekeeping, and then stood to take the mug from Lydia.

“Such a gentleman,” she praised, though Corvo had been planning on visiting the Boatman anyway. Lydia hurried back the way she’d entered, too distracted to notice Jenkins’ eyes fixed on her behind.

“Don’t let him wander off again,” Corvo instructed Thomas and Aeolos, nodding once in Jenkins’ direction.

“Yes,” Thomas agreed. “We don’t need another bathroom incident.”

Jenkins grimaced. “For the last shitting time, I thought it was the door to the wine cellar!”

“Poor Callista,” Aeolos said solemnly. “Taking a quiet bath, and then in barges Jenkins, of all the mudlarks. Must have given her quite a fright.”

Thomas' expression became slightly sour. “As I said, we could do without a repeat of that if we can help it, Jenkins.”

Corvo left Jenkins to his embarrassment, the other two to their ridicule, and he shouldered the main door of the pub open.

The clashes from Piero’s workshop echoed around the courtyard. Day by day, the sounds were becoming more familiar to him, and Corvo had become quietly fascinated with watching Piero work. He had never met a renowned natural philosopher before, and it sated some curiosity he’d had over his years in Dunwall, even if he didn’t understand half of what the inventor said.

Passing the workshop, Corvo descended the steps to the waterfront, spotting Samuel hunched down beside the Amaranth’s engine compartment. “What’s wrong with her?”

The boatman granted him a weary smile over his shoulder. “Just a bit juddery at the moment. Engine isn’t running as smoothly as it should. Oh, thank you, Corvo.” He sat back as Corvo handed him the tea, and took a few sips. “Just want her in top shape for when we finally set out. Can’t have something going amiss once we find that little girl.”

“Suppose not.”

“We any closer to knowing where she is? Who she’s with?”

Corvo crossed his arms and glimpsed across the river, to the other half of the city. “The Overseer’s still working. Shouldn’t be long now.” He heard the frustration in his own voice.

“I wouldn’t worry, sir. I’ve seen what you can do when you’re determined enough, so I reckon this’ll all work out, just you wait and see.”

“I envy your patience,” Corvo replied dryly. “You’re as bad as Thomas.”

The boatman seemed to mull over that for a moment, then he smiled again as he took another sip of tea. “Men like myself and Thomas, they can sit for hours with nothing but the sounds of the river keeping them occupied.”

“Doesn't sound so bad.”

“Only when you don’t have something to put your mind to,” Samuel replied, his tone shrewd as he continued on. “You’ve got a goal in mind, but no way to reach it until Martin’s done his part. You’re focusing on the next step of the plan before the current one’s even been finished. Working yourself up won’t make the plans move any faster, sir, especially when there isn’t anything you can do but wait. Once you accept that, you’ll find your patience.”

Corvo was quiet while he watched the boatman contentedly finish his drink. “Do you get tired, being the voice of reason all the time?”

"Perhaps I will one day, as soon as you stop taking this old man’s advice.”

“That’s not likely to happen.”

“Then I’m not likely to tire of it, I’m afraid, sir.”

Trying to ignore the warm, nagging appreciation that Samuel, at some point along their journey, had irrevocably become _his friend_ , Corvo avoided the boatman’s eyes. “Thanks.”

Samuel, unsurprisingly, waved his thanks off. He swapped the mug of tea for a nearby wrench, turning back to the Amaranth’s many panels. Corvo knelt to help, keeping the boat steady as Samuel worked.

“So how far along are Admiral Havelock and Martin into the book?”

“They’ve made good progress, apparently. Though I don’t see it,” Corvo answered, handing Samuel a tool he didn’t recognise when the boatman gestured to it. “We don’t have a location yet. We know how Campbell managed to get so much power in the Abbey.”

“Blackmail?”

“Yeah. He had a lot of rivals to chew through, so Martin says.”

The High Overseer, whom Corvo hadn’t been keen on to begin with, had fallen even farther from grace in his good opinion since they had learnt of his secrets. Corvo could never help comparing men with power to Daud. Daud had earned the respect of those under his command. Campbell had cheated it.

Samuel shook his head, somber. “I’ll never understand people like that, so greedy for power they’ll go to any lengths for it. Don’t reckon I could go through with something like that.”

“A humble opinion.”

Corvo turned towards the smooth, confident voice. Martin stood a few feet away, clad as always in his Abbey robes.

“The right opinion,” Corvo retorted.

“Ah, but that’s what’s so wonderful about opinions, Corvo. There’s no right or wrong.”

Corvo felt himself frown whenever Martin addressed him so casually. A heretic and an Overseer weren’t meant to be at ease around one another. _Another right opinion_ , he added to himself.

“There a reason you’re here?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I was hoping you’d seen Campbell’s journal. You had it last, did you not?”

“It’s with Aeolos.”

Martin gestured towards the pub. “Mind pointing them out to me? I’m afraid I don’t quite remember which Aeolos is.”

Corvo doubted that. Much like Daud, Martin made it his business to know the names and faces of everyone in his company. But Corvo reminded himself that he and the Overseer were working towards the same endgame. And Martin hadn’t done anything to warrant his suspicions so far.

He looked to Samuel in question. The boatman waved him off again. “I’m almost done here, sir, don’t you worry about me. You go on ahead.”

Corvo retreated from the shore and joined Martin’s side, walking with him towards the pub's main doorway. The Overseer’s presence would have been imposing if Corvo hadn’t been raised among the Whalers. Martin was a head taller than him, around Daud’s height, and he gave off an air of self-confidence that would have intimidated a lesser man. But Corvo had served under Daud for ten years, and Martin was little in comparison.

“So,” Martin began, holding the door open and allowing Corvo through. “Where was this Aeolos last? In here?”

Corvo made a noncommittal sound, scanning the bar for the novice. Gone. “Probably at the hound cages,” he said to himself, brushing by Martin to get back outside.

“Strange name,” the Overseer commented as he followed. “Aeolos. From Morley, isn’t it?”

Corvo nodded shortly, hastening en route for the neighbouring building. It was disconcerting, the attitude that Martin had with him. He remembered when they’d met, during the deal with Havelock, where Corvo had been anything but amicable. He even recalled insulting the Overseer at one point, though he couldn’t evoke exactly what had been said. The only conclusion Corvo could draw was that Martin was attempting to be civil for the sake of the cause.

Though there may have been a difference between civility and Martin’s unremitting attempts to engage him in conversation.

“Yeah. From Morley,” Corvo decided to try and answer properly. If the Overseer truly was intending to be polite, Corvo didn’t want to endanger their alliance by being too aloof. “Your name is, as well.”

“Yes, it is.” Martin sounded encouraged. “Yours is Serkonan, if I’m not mistaken. Not that I couldn’t tell by your bearing. You don’t see many native Serkonans in Dunwall.”

Corvo wasn't sure how to respond to that. “Probably too cold for us here.”

Martin gave a short, astounded laugh. “You make jokes? I’m must confess, I’m relieved.”

 _So you do smile, like the rest of us. What a relief._  Roland’s similar words to him nudged their way into Corvo’s mind.

He shrugged them off as Martin continued. “I was beginning to suspect that your connection with the Void prevented such a thing.”

A joke as well, but Corvo felt unease prickle down his spine. He became far too conscious of the Arcane Bond’s tattoos, twisting their way up his neck above the collar of his shirt. Not to mention the mark on his left hand.

Martin gave another chuckle, making an offhand gesture. “Not to worry, I’m just having some fun. We’re all friends here.”

Corvo didn't voice his disagreement aloud. He entered the building, a step ahead of Martin through the door this time, and found the Whaler he was looking for. Aeolos' expression was concentrated on Quinn and Feodor's game. Card and coin were spread about their small table, and Feodor was evidently quite far ahead.

Everyone became tense when the opened door drew their attention and they noticed Corvo's companion. Corvo saw the way Daud's shoulders became stiff, his posture instantly on edge, ready to fight. As though Martin would dare attack six heretics single-handedly.

Seated beside Daud on one of the many empty crates littered around, Arden appeared the only one unaffected by the Overseer's presence. He glanced at Martin once, sordidly, before breaking the heavy silence.

"'ttano," he greeted around his cigarette. He motioned to their little gathering, "What can we do you for?"

"Need the book."

Aeolos hopped up from the table and retrieved Campbell's journal from a coat pocket. The Whaler regarded Martin cautiously, then placed the book in Corvo's hand. "Here you are."

Corvo muttered his thanks, then tossed the journal at Martin. "Know what you’re looking for?"

The Overseer caught it one handed and flicked through a few pages. "I think so. Although I'd work more concisely if you allowed me to keep the damned thing." Despite the complaint, he sounded more amused than irritated. He pulled out a small notebook and pen from his robes, and began scribbling something down.

On Daud's orders, Campbell's black book was to stay with them, or at least in their sight, at all times until it was decoded. Once it was, they would allow Martin to keep it as compensation for his efforts. But for now, the Overseer was having to settle for copying the codes down and translating it from there, moving back and forth from Campbell’s journal and his own notes.

Martin paced near the doorway, quickly absorbed in his work. Satisfied that the Overseer was occupied, Corvo approached the table and studied Feodor's winnings.

"Shut up," Quinn snapped, before Corvo could make a remark. "I know, I’m awful at this, so shut up."

"You're not _so_ bad," Feodor said, but he grimaced when he compared their piles of coin.

"You are," Aeolos told Quinn, sitting back beside him. "You're easy to read, too obvious when you have a good hand. That's why he keeps winning."

"Shut. Up."

Corvo caught Aeolos' eye. "Learning how to gamble?"

Feodor opened his mouth to reply, but Aeolos' chilly expression had him closing it again. "If you say I'm too young again, Feodor–"

"You _are_ fourteen," Feodor said. "But I suppose there's no real harm in gambling."

"The third stricture may disagree."

Only Corvo was close enough to hear Martin’s comment. The Overseer's gaze was innocently focused on his notes, but Corvo saw the wry smile at the edge of his mouth.

"I heard Corvo was only a year older than me when you taught him cards," Aeolos called to Arden across the room.

"Aye. Little bastard caught on fast, too. Robbed me of a good bit of coin over the years."

“Still can’t beat Jordan,” Corvo muttered.

“‘Cause he fuckin’ cheats. I’ll bet my cock the grotty bastard cheats every game.”

“Yeah,” Quinn agreed. “I’ve seen you beat him once, though, Boss. When are you gonna teach us how?” he asked, grinning at Daud. “You’re the only one who can call his bluff, you've got to tell us how you do it. That mudlark’s still got my coin from Lady Triss’ job.”

“That was two years ago,” Aeolos pointed out, bemusedly.

“Yeah, and my revenge on him has been long coming." Quinn glimpsed behind Corvo, expectant. “So how about it, Sir? Ready to give over Jordan’s secret?”

Corvo suddenly became aware of Daud at his side; he hadn’t noticed him move from the crates or approach. He was standing unusually close, in such a way that went unnoticed by the others, but was plain to Corvo. Daud had always respected his space, around other people at least. Now, though... Corvo could sense there was meaning behind his closeness, something guarded, defensive, almost possessive, wavering beneath the man’s composed outer walls as he and Quinn spoke.

Corvo threw a subtle glance at the suspected reason, still pacing by the doorway and making his notes.

Was Daud truly _that_ wary of Martin, that he felt the need to stand so near? For good measure, Corvo stepped closer, to reassure him if nothing else.

He focused back on the conversation at hand.

“– nothing but luck,” Daud was saying.

“Gotta call shite on that, Boss. Luck’s got naught to do with it, ‘specially against Jordan,” Arden said, cynical. “You ain’t telling ‘cause you like seein' us lose coin to that choffer. See,” he said, waving an accusatory hand at Daud, “man ain’t denying it.”

“I have to say, Sir, you do have a small sadistic streak whenever you play cards,” Feodor said as gently as possible.

“Small sadistic streak?” Quinn scoffed. “He’s coldblooded. Remember last High Cold, that game when it was just the Boss and me left and we’d made it up to three hundred coin? Each? He laughed. Fucking _laughed_ when I lost.”

Arden snorted as he remembered, while Aeolos looked stunned by the mere notion of Daud being able to laugh.

“He did. I was there,” Feodor assured the novice. “Not a good night for you, was it, Quinn,” he added.

Quinn conjured a string of curses that could have made a Sister of the Oracular Order faint where she stood, and Arden only sniggered harder.

“You do like watching them suffer,” Corvo said to Daud , while Quinn threatened to gut Arden if he didn't stop laughing. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“And don’t think I’ll deny it,” Daud replied, a hint of mirth in his tone. “Everyone has their vices.”

“Indeed they do.”

Corvo glanced towards the low voice, and came face to face with Martin once again in so many minutes. And with Daud stood so close, Corvo couldn't ignore the tension that stiffened his frame once again.

Martin held out Campbell’s journal, and granted him a genial smile. “I believe I have everything I need for now. Thank you, Corvo.”

“Found her yet?”

Martin laughed, looking ever so slightly charmed. “By the stars, no. I’ll need a little more time than _that,"_ he chuckled _._  "I should have heeded your boatman’s warning, shouldn’t I? He mentioned you were impatient.”

Corvo snatched the book, feeling his face redden at being teased.

Martin looked ready to say more, but Daud cut him off instantly.

"If you have what you need, Overseer, be on your way."

The words were bitten out, and Corvo felt the temperature drop a few degrees. The mutual, icy strain between them both was blatant; Daud with a silent challenge in his expression, the Overseer with his eyes astutely narrowed.

Finally, Martin gave a slight bow of his head in submission. "As you wish," he answered, his gaze darting briefly in Corvo's direction. "Until next time, then."

Corvo watched the Overseer leave, his steps sure and even. It was the movement of a man who deemed himself the cleverest in the room. Corvo felt both envy and mild distaste curl in his stomach at once.

Once the door had closed after Martin, Arden broke the heavy silence. "Eerie bastard, ain't he."

"Yeah," Quinn shuddered. "Too big for his polished Overseer boots, if you ask me."

"Positively distasteful. Almost a shame we need his aid in the coalition, isn't it," Feodor said.

Corvo chewed on the inside of his mouth. "Think it's just how he is."

"Still," Aeolos began, "he should know to keep his distance." Corvo frowned when he realised the novice was speaking to Daud. "Perhaps you should _remind_ him, Sir."

Whatever lay unsaid between the two of them, Daud absolved it with a low and dangerous growl. Aeolos clearly knew better than to argue, and went back to the safety of criticising Quinn's Nancy skills. Arden scoffed at their exchange, which only served to puzzle Corvo further.

The only thing he _wasn't_ puzzled about, with clearcut certainty, was Daud's frustration. Whether it was from the unfamiliarity of the District and their new allies, or from the Overseer's presence alone, Corvo suspected the man wouldn't say, and that didn't matter. The point was that Corvo didn't like seeing it.

Brushing aside the pesky awareness that they weren't alone, Corvo stepped around and leaned into Daud's chest. It worked to distract him most times, whenever the man was edgy or wound up, or close to bursting a vein while he complained about the novices' training.

Only this time, when Daud's arms surrounded him they were bruisingly tight, as though he would lose him if he dared let him go, and Corvo was puzzled again ten times over.


	3. A change of opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps he had been unfair in his opinion of the Overseer.

After scouting the District with Leonid, Corvo returned to the Hound Pits by sundown. He was surprised to find the atmosphere in the pub so friendly. Even though the coalition had its rivalries – Corvo himself couldn’t stomach the nobleman or his manservant for long – everyone appeared to be getting along that evening.

Piero was rambling on to Feodor about something, the Whaler was rapt while he listened. Quinn and Arden had joined Lydia in one of the booths. Corvo suspected there was some kind of wager going on between the two of them; he had seen them fussing over the maid tirelessly of late. Lydia didn’t seem to mind.

Havelock and Daud were at the bar, a respectful distance from one another, but still sharing conversation.

There were others gathered here and there, mostly Whalers, and despite the easy mood among them all, the small space was overcrowded. Intolerably so. Corvo had been about to turn tail and head back outside, when a half-filled whisky tumbler slid across the bar towards him.

Corvo caught it in his grip before it could skim off the edge. He frowned questioningly at Martin.

The Overseer offered a smile. “I thought we could celebrate. Morley whisky is what you drink, isn’t it?”

Corvo examined the liquid for a moment. He wondered vaguely when Martin had noticed his preference for the brand.

“If that’s the case, you have fine taste–”

“What would we be celebrating?” Corvo asked, cutting him off.

He felt his eyebrows arch in annoyance when Martin remained silent. He merely watched Corvo for a while, with a slight gleam behind his eyes.

“We’d be celebrating the completion of Campbell’s black book, of course,” the Overseer replied after a few more moments had passed. “I’ve a feeling its almost translated.”

 _Almost_ wasn’t good enough. “If that’s the case,” Corvo answered, repeating Martin’s turn of phrase, “you have no reason to be celebrating yet.”

Martin blinked, unprepared for Corvo’s frankness. But that gleam in his eyes slowly began to brighten, and not in displeasure. “I must say, I’m not often one to be caught off guard by such a candid tongue. That’s usually my job.”

“That so.”

“Yes, indeed.”

Corvo regarded Martin coldly when it became clear the Overseer wasn’t going to leave until he got what he wanted. And _what_ exactly he wanted – a celebration, a conversation, Outsider only knew, because Corvo had no idea.

Eventually, Martin placed his glass down on the bar. “Indulge me in a walk, at least,” he offered, no doubt having noticed Corvo’s restless shifting and glances towards the exit. “It is a little suffocating in here.”

 _A little suffocating_ was an understatement in Corvo's book. The amount of people swarming the bar was beginning to make him grind his teeth together.

He reminded himself of his resolve a few days ago.

_You and the Overseer are working together. Try to be civil, and don’t be too aloof._

So he held back a biting remark. “Fine.”

He allowed Martin to open the door for him, stepping out into the dark. The full moon loomed, hidden behind the neighbouring tower, and its light bathed the waterfront in a tranquil silver glow. Once the door had shut behind them, dulling the sounds from inside the pub, Corvo closed his eyes in relief of the cold night air.

“Not fond of crowds then, I see,” Martin said. He was giving Corvo space, consciously keeping a few paces away, and Corvo felt a sudden and unexpected appreciation for it.

“Thought I hid it so well,” he responded.

Martin chuckled. “I’d say I have a discerning eye. But no, in this instance I’m afraid your discomfort was rather obvious.”

“I prefer to be alone.”

“If that’s honestly what you wish, I can go,” Martin offered him, tilting his head back towards the pub door. “You only have to ask.”

Corvo glanced at the Overseer, curious, but he found no deception in his words. He imagined that if he did ask, his request would be respected. But there was no real cause to send Martin away, and he was... being nice. If nothing else, he had been kind enough to recognise that Corvo needed some air.

_Be civil. Be civil._

“It’s not so bad around a few people,” Corvo answered eventually. “Just crowds.”

Martin gestured to the courtyard, reassured. “Shall we, then? A walk may help.”

Corvo let him lead the way, and to protect them from the bitter chill of the wind, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his coat – a long, dark garment he’d had since his twenty first year. Discounting his wristbow, the coat was probably the nicest thing he owned, given that Quinn had stolen it from a noble’s apartment with the excuse of spotting it in passing and reckoning the colour would suit him. Corvo personally couldn’t care less about its colour. It was warm, and it fit, so it was good enough for him.

“So,” Martin began, directing them towards the causeway beneath the old hound cages. “Your... companions seem like quite the lively bunch. I must say, after all the time the Admiral, Pendleton and I have been settled here, it’s comforting to hear new voices around the place.”

“That might change before long,” Corvo warned . “Give it another week. You’ll be searching for somewhere Arden’s voice doesn’t carry.”

Martin laughed, with the same surprise and pleasure as when Corvo had first made a joke with him. “Am I likely to find somewhere close by?”

“You’d have to go to Tyvia.”

Another chuckle, quieter but with no less delight. “He is rather loud, isn’t he. It’s certainly the strongest Morley accent I’ve heard in a long time.”

Corvo’s interest piqued as they came to a standstill at the causeway's edge, overlooking the river. “When did you leave Morley?”

“When I was a boy,” Martin answered, leaning forward against the railings. “Sixteen or seventeen, I believe. After my father died, I went out in the world to...” He paused, breathing a self-depreciating laugh, “to seek my fortune, I suppose. As naive and ‘storybook’ as it sounds.

“And now you're an Overseer.”

“Strange, isn’t it? I never expected to be. Then again, my past is a strange one, I suppose. Full of inconsistencies. Much like the Abbey itself,” Martin continued, almost grimly. “I know what your people must think of me, Corvo. And I don’t blame them. I’m not blind to the corruption of my brothers, I wasn’t even before I’d seen the contents of Campbell’s journal,” he confessed. He turned more fully to Corvo, and motioned to the burn marks along his jaw. "A token from Holger Square? I recognised it immediately."

Corvo swallowed his discomfort. He inclined his head forward slightly so that his hair covered the dark scars.

Martin, however, began to roll up the sleeves of his robes. Corvo frowned, confused, until he noticed the long scars on each of the Overseer's palms; angry red marks, raised and running from the tips of his middle fingers to the insides of his forearms.

"My own tokens," Martin said. "Something from my days as a highwayman."

"You-" Corvo hadn't been so taken aback for a while. "You were a thief?"

Martin nodded, amused by Corvo's surprise. "Yes, for years. And a good one, if I do say so. But not good enough, in the end."

Corvo's curiosity urged him on. "What happened?"

"I made the unwise decision to mark an off duty Overseer in an alleyway one night. I was rash and hot-headed, way back then, and the gentleman looked harmless enough. But you know Overseers," Martin said decisively. "Good fighters. I was on my back in the gutter with a sabre to my throat before I'd even finished threatening him. Then I was taken to the Office, and made to see the error of my ways. _Restrict the Restless Hands, they rush to sordid gain, vein pursuits_ , and so on. And, well," he gestured with his scarred hands once again, "as you can see."

Corvo shook his head, more confused now that he had been before Martin's story. "But _you're_ an Overseer."

"Yes, I became one. I joined them, not long after that night, as a matter of fact," Martin answered. "I was given a choice. Rot beneath the Office as a prisoner, or learn to accept my capturers and live by the Strictures."

"I'd rather have died." Corvo felt himself glare, no matter how childish he knew it was. "How could you accept people like that?" He looked at Martin's hands, "Who did _that_ to you."

The Overseer, to his bafflement, smiled. "I suppose it does sound odd from an outside perspective," Martin admitted. "Especially considering the punishment I suffered. But they weren't always so cruel. And remember, I had rather impolitely tried to steal from them."

When Corvo's glare deepened, Martin sighed.

"You don't understand, clearly. Let me put it this way," he said. "They gave me a home, Corvo. Fed me, taught me. I made friends. Good men who I came to respect and care for like they were my own brothers. Believe it or not, things were quite different before Campbell took office. That's why I'm here. To restore things, if I can. Make them better."

Corvo blinked. Martin must have read his expression, because he gave a small chuckle.

“You’re surprised? Because you’d condemn anyone who wears an Abbey uniform, hm? You think we’re all mad cultists, Void-bent on ridding the Isles of even the smallest rumours of arcane magic.” The Overseer shifted closer to Corvo across the railings, and lowered his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Corvo. They think the same of you. That anyone who wears one of those whaling masks is a killer who’s only concerns are of blood and coin.” Martin titled his head slightly, probing. “Are they wrong?”

“Yes.”

“And I agree with you,” he replied. “Your people are decent, loyal, and hardworking from what I’ve seen of them. Not to mention what I’ve seen of you.” Martin brought his gaze back to the water calmly rocking beneath them. “We’re not all monsters either. Not all of us. I hope, in time at least, I can convince you of that much.”

Corvo stared at him, taking in the man's serene gaze on the river. For all his history with Martin’s people, he knew there must have been good men among them. Not every Overseer was Thaddeus Campbell or Brother Marcus, and Corvo _could_ acknowledge that, once he broke past each layer of his own stubbornness.

But what else Martin had said... _a home_... _like brothers_. That's what Corvo found himself dwelling on as they both lapsed into silence.

Was Martin's past really so different from his own? The Whalers had taken him in, and they were a gang of killers, yes, but they were Daud and Rulfio and Quinn. They became his family, and likewise the Overseers became Martin's. Corvo had to question what could have been, if Martin had threatened a Whaler in that alleyway instead of an Overseer. Would they have fought at each other's sides for all these years? Played cards under the bridge? Would they have grown as close as he and Quinn had?

Perhaps...

Perhaps he had been unfair in his opinion of the Overseer.

"Martin-" But Corvo took too long wracking his brain for a response that was sincere, and not too sarcastic or forthright. He heard footsteps approaching them, cutting short whatever he'd blindly been about to say.

Cecilia stopped some distance away, just a dark silhouette against the moonlit courtyard. She politely bowed her head to both of them. “Sorry to interrupt, Overseer Martin. Master Corvo.”

Corvo noted she had a habit of wringing her hands whenever she spoke to him. Must have been nerves.

“Admiral Havelock is asking for you,” Cecilia told the Overseer. “He’s in the meeting room.”

Martin nodded, though Corvo saw the way his mouth had formed a thin, displeased line at the interruption.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone nothing but warm in contrast to his expression. He turned to Corvo, “I suppose I must be off, then. If its Havelock asking for me, whatever it is is probably important.”

“Yeah.”

“I enjoyed our talk, as well. Thank you for indulging me.”

Corvo hesitated, letting the Overseer move a few paces away before he caught his arm. Martin turned back, questioning.

Corvo realised he hadn't decided what to say. After a few seconds, he settled for, "Thanks for the walk."

And Martin granted him a smile. Not the furtive smirk he used with Pendleton or Daud or any of the servants, but a genuine smile. One where his head tilted just so, and that made the skin crinkle at the corners of his eyes. "It was my pleasure."

Soon after he and Cecilia had disappeared into the pub, Corvo was left by himself, stood above the river and watching his breath form steam in the cold air. He allowed himself to shiver against the night’s chill, and wondered how his view of a person, an Overseer of all things, could have changed so drastically the course of one conversation. So many conflicting emotions over one person. It was exasperating.

So exasperating that he'd almost forgotten he was being watched. Corvo peered at the walkway above. The red coat that had been perched there moments before had vanished.

A quick glimpse over the yard, at the rooftop near their attic room, let him know Daud had retreated quite a distance since Martin had taken his leave.

 _You would have been less conspicuous from the bar's east window_ , Corvo chided the man in his head. _Could have finished your drink with the Admiral while you spied._


	4. A misunderstanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surely the Overseer had known that..?

The incident beneath the hound cages wasn’t the last.

In the days that followed, each time Corvo found himself in Martin’s company, Daud was never far away. In most instances, he merely watched from a distance; hidden from prying eyes, but Corvo knew he was there. On one hand, he imagined the Arcane Bond had something to do with this sixth sense. The nearer Daud was, the more profoundly Corvo felt his presence.

On the other, he suspected it was because the man was so shit at stealth.

He said as much to Rulfio when he visited Rudshore, to check up on how things were going in their leader's absence.

"How curious," Rulfio mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Very, very interesting."

Corvo glowered. That tone meant he was about to be maddeningly sarcastic about something. "If you're not going to be helpful-"

"No, no, no," Rulfio insisted, holding his hands up as they strolled along the outskirts of Rudshore's old accounting building.

Ox and Lord Bayle followed, panting happily as they padded along behind the two men.

"I'm planning on being very helpful, don't you worry. I, uh-" Rulfio managed to stifle a chuckle, and Corvo felt his nostrils flare. "Did you just want to run by me again exactly how our dear leader's been behaving lately?"

Corvo reined Ox in when the hound made a snap at Lord Bayle. He tried to rein in his own annoyance, too. "Told you, twice. Following me. Skulking around for days-"

"Nothing new there," Rulfio said, smiling thinly at the look Corvo shot him. "What else, then?"

"I don't know." Corvo truly didn't. He couldn't explain it. There was nothing obvious to explain. It was subtle things only _he_ noticed. The way Daud looked at Martin, with his eyes narrowed a little too much for it to be his ordinary scowl. How he stood too close in Corvo's space for it to be an accident. "I don't know," he repeated, quieter.

Rulfio nudged his shoulder, "Stop that."

Corvo stopped biting on his lower lip. He hadn't realised he was doing it.

"Well, I know," the older Whaler continued, stopping at the edge of one of the makeshift pathways above the floodwater. He sat down, letting Lord Bayle slump on his knee. Corvo sat beside him, scratching Ox's ear when the hound sniffed at his knuckles. "Or at least, I have a suspicion."

"Tell me, then."

"You'll hate yourself," Rulfio warned.

"Tell me."

"You'll hate yourself, it's so obvious."

"Rulfio."

"Daud may be suffering," the Whaler relented, "from what we call jealousy."

Corvo stared at him, then frowned down at the floodwater. "No."

 _"Yes,"_ Rulfio said firmly. "Believe it or not, Daud's a flesh and blood man. I know he does his best to convince us all otherwise, but that's the truth of it. And having flesh and blood, strangely, also means having something else we call _emotions."_

"But-" Corvo cut himself off, locking eyes with Ox. The hound panted up at him, oblivious and unhelpful.

"If it was anyone else but you, you hundred and forty pound sack of ignorance, I'd be astounded you hadn't noticed. But I know you," Rulfio sighed, "wouldn't notice something like this if it sidled up and pounded you in the bollocks."

Perhaps the fault _was_ his own, for not considering jealousy as the cause of Daud's behaviour. But why would Corvo think to consider such things, when he knew with such certainty that he only wanted one man? The only romantic entanglements he'd had were his relationship with Daud, and his short encounter with Roland in the Legal District. And even then, they could hardly be compared. One was a fond memory, one Corvo had caught himself smiling at in the few and far between instances he’d thought about it.

The other was something with far deeper roots; it was passion and devotion, something that they had both bled for. Surely Daud knew that's how he felt. Surely...

"Outsider's balls, I can see those cogs of yours turning," Rulfio said, pulling him from his thoughts. "It's painful to watch."

"It's stupid, for him to think I'd want-" Corvo's frown deepened. "Ten years and I've only ever wanted-"

He stopped himself, knowing how sappy and ridiculous it sounded.

"I just thought he didn't like Martin," he mumbled, feeling all of a sudden foolish that he hadn't realised sooner.

"I imagine he doesn't," Rulfio mused. "The man _is_ from the Abbey, after all. Daud's not their most avid admirer."

"He's alright. Martin," Corvo clarified. "For an Overseer. We talk, sometimes. He's alright."

He couldn't explain that, either. Since their evening walk, he and Martin had become... not _friends,_ exactly. Becoming friends with an Overseer was impossible. But they were _something._ Something several steps above the caution and suspicion and the general dislike Corvo had had towards Martin before that night.

Rulfio hummed. "Well, as long as he's not spouting endless Stricture talk and giving sermons, then this Martin's a step above the rest of his lot," he said at last. "To be honest, if he can make it through another fortnight without smothering Arden in his sleep, I may actually start to admire him."

"Are you sure? About Daud." Corvo hated how tentative he sounded, but that was why he'd come to Rulfio. He hadn't known what else to do.

"Is it honestly that hard to believe?" Rulfio asked with a chuckle. "That Daud might be wary of someone else snatching you up?"

Corvo didn't answer, which was answer enough.

"Stupid question, of course it is." Rulfio shook his head. "Listen, men aren't my area, as you know. But I still have eyes."

"That work, old man?"

"Yes, believe it or not, you smartmouthed little bastard. They do." Rulfio's shove almost toppled him into the water. "Just listen. Despite your _many_ snarky forthcomings, you're intelligent, capable. You're Serkonan, which is apparently all the range these days. You aren't terrible to look at. The list goes on. Anyone shound know they'd be lucky to have you."

Corvo felt his cheeks redden. "Buy me a drink first, Rulf."

"Wouldn't waste my coin on you." Rulfio looked both amused and empathetic. It was an expression Corvo had come to appreciate, time and time again. "Look, just talk to _Daud._ Not me. As nice as it is to be included in," He made a vague gesture, "whatever this is, you should be upfront with him if its bothering you as much as this." He glanced at Corvo sidelong, "Upfront shouldn't be hard for you. The Isles' most outspoken little prick."

A hard whack to Rulfio's shoulder caused the two hounds to perk up. They began scuffling with one another, rolling around and playfully snarling over the walkway.

"Why do I talk to you?"

"Why do I talk to _you?_ Ungrateful fuck." Rulfio's grin made Corvo smile reluctantly in return.

"Sorry you have to stick around here," Corvo said after a while. "Someone has to watch the District."

"I am the most responsible. Not to mention the smartest. And certainly the best looking-" Another whack caused Rulfio to wince and bat Corvo's hand away. "Alright, alright. Not that all that isn't true, but I really don't mind. From what Jenkins tells me, the Hound Pits is _dull as the shitting Void_ ," Rulfio said, in an impressive mockery of Jenkins' accent. "I'd much rather be here, keeping an eye on the rabble."

"If you're sure."

"Mm." He poked Corvo's knee with his own. "Just check back here more often, won't you. Let me know everything's alright."

"Yeah," Corvo promised. "I will."

"Good man." Rulfio straightened up and stretched, groaning when his back popped. "Now go and sort Daud out. His moping around can't be fun for anyone."

***

When Corvo returned to the Old Port District, Quinn was waiting for him.

"Hey," the Whaler called to him, "Attano!" He waved Corvo over to his lookout spot. "Where have you been?"

"Rudshore."

"Ah, right. Arden did tell me. How's everyone?" Quinn made space for him atop his perch, high up one of the abandoned apartments facing the pub. "Is the Chamber still standing?"

"For now."

"Hah. Rulf will keep them in line, I'm sure." Quinn offered him a cigarette, passing it up from where he sat hunched over.

"No. Thanks." Corvo remained stood, scanning the area for any signs of a red coat. "Where's Daud?"

"Daud this, Daud that," Quinn sighed, but it was only teasing. "Don't have time for your best friend anymore, is that it? You don't love meee-"

Corvo kicked him lightly. "Seen him?"

"Yeah, he's with Havelock. Think they're planning a supply run, we're running low on stocks or something. He's gonna send me and Yuri, he always does. Just my luck. I hate supply runs." Quinn made a dismissive gesture with the hand holding his half-shrunken cigarette. "Go on then, lover boy. Go find him."

Corvo kicked him again, a little harder, and then blinked onto the roof of the Hound Pits' attic room.

He vaulted over the railings, landing catlike in the yard below and startling Wallace, who had just stepped outside from the cellar.

"By the stars," the manservant gasped out, clutching what looked like a bottle of wine in one hand's tight grip. "You can't just fall from the sky like that. I almost dropped it."

Corvo straightened up, examining the bottle. Vintage. Expensive. Probably worth twice as much coin as Corvo owned. Definitely for Lord Pendleton.

"Damn assassins. His Lordship would not have been pleased." Wallace granted Corvo a withering look before heading towards the main building.

"When is his Lordship ever pleased," Corvo said under his breath. "Wallace," he called louder.

The manservant glowered, but stopped to heed his name.

"Has Havelock finished his meeting?" Corvo thought it best to ask after Havelock rather than Daud. Daud's mention made the servants jumpy.

"Not yet, no," Wallace answered. "I doubt they'll be much longer."

Corvo gave a nod, watching the manservant disappear through the door.

He considered going to the workshop, to watch Piero tinker away until Daud had emerged from his meeting. He decided against it. Piero would likely ask for his help with some experiment or other, and Corvo remembered exactly how that had gone the first time. He didn't want to come that close to blowing himself up with a whale oil tank ever again.

He headed for the shore instead, content with the thought of keeping Samuel company while he waited. But descending the steps to the river, there was nothing of the boatman in his usual spot. Instead, Corvo was saw Martin stood looking out over the water, deep in thought.

The Overseer glanced around at the sound of his footsteps.

"Corvo! I haven't seen you about today," Martin said in greeting. "I was just pondering over where you might be."

"Scouting run."

"Ah, of course." Martin gave what could have been a sheepish look, if Corvo thought it possible for the Overseer to be sheepish about anything. "I must admit, I was beginning to become concerned after not seeing sign of you all afternoon."

"I can take care of myself," Corvo said. "Have some faith."

His choice words earned him a smile. "What a thing to say to an Overseer."

"You're moving against the Abbey," Corvo pointed out. Not unkindly. Merely as a fact. "And conspiring with heretics. You're not a good Overseer."

"Have mercy on me. I see I was right about that tongue of yours," Martin remarked, amused. "I imagine it's more forthright than most men can handle. That's not a bad thing," he added at Corvo's unchanging expression.

"Didn't think it was." Corvo glimpsed the middle floor of the pub. "You're not in the meeting."

"No, no. They don't need me in there. What would I know about supply runs?"

 _Probably more than you're crediting yourself,_ Corvo thought. Martin was enigmatic on the best of days, playing down his intellect either for his own entertainment or so others underestimated his capabilities. But Corvo suspected he had a much vaster knowledge than he let on.

"Come, walk with me," Martin offered, gesturing in the direction of the beach beneath the tower. "I came out to stretch my legs, and I'd be grateful for your company."

Corvo nodded. They went around the inventor's workshop, neither of them commenting on the worrying clangs and crashes coming from within, and wandered over the rocks to reach the shoreline.

Corvo pointed further along the beach, to a boulder nestled in the shallower water. "Where Samuel and I met."

"Is that so?"

"Mm. Told me it was the same night the Admiral asked him to join your group."

"Ah yes. I remember. Your boatman certainly is a stubborn one," Martin chuckled. "He refused to even consider joining us unless we divulged each and every detail of what we were up to. And unfortunately, we couldn't do that. Too much risk." He smiled Corvo's way as they strolled along. "I'm glad you convinced him to reconsider."

"He wanted to help when I told him what you were doing."

Martin raised an eyebrow. "You figured out what we were planning? All from what your boatman told you of us?"

"Some," Corvo corrected. "He said you were all on edge when he met with you, so it was obvious you were working against the Regent. Paired with what I saw of you at Holger Square while you were searching for Campbell's book, I was certain you were trying to find Emily. Putting everything together wasn't difficult."

Martin was silent for so long that Corvo glanced over. The man was staring at him, as close to dumbfounded as Corvo had ever seen him.

"What?"

"You continue to impress me," Martin said at last, with a small breath of laughter. "My brothers are surely mistaken. You're not all savages with more bloodlust than brains."

Corvo chewed on the inside of his cheek, and smiled. "That what they say about us?"

"Some do."

"We say your kind spouts sermons and Stricture talk in between practising the importance of the Sixth Stricture."

Martin laughed, full-bodied and bright. "We don't live like the monks in Tyvia, Corvo. Not all of us restrict ourselves so."

"Not what I've heard."

"Allow me to prove what you've heard false, then."

Corvo went to make a wry comeback, enjoying their back and forth. But the gloved fingers holding his jaw and the lips softly pressing against his own rendered him unable. He was caught so off guard that he found he didn't react, as Martin's lips parted against him.

It would have been romantic, Corvo supposed, with their banter and the beach and the afternoon sun shimmering on the river's surface, like something out of one of those bad Tyvian fictions Arden read during breakfast. Very romantic, if Corvo wasn't feeling foolish all over again; a hundred times more foolish than he'd felt during his talk with Rulfio. He shouldn't have needed this kiss to realise what he'd been blind to for days. No wonder the Overseer had so avidly chased after his company.

No wonder Daud had been keeping such a close watch on Martin.

Outsider's eyes, Corvo was an idiot.

As gently as possible, he pushed Martin away.

The Overseer looked a little taken aback, but he respected Corvo's space. "You didn't like it?" The words were abnormally hesitant, for Martin.

"I did," Corvo admitted. He did. It was a good kiss. But Martin wasn't Daud. "You shouldn't have done it."

A confused smile tugged at Martin's mouth. "Why ever not? You aren't taken, are you?"

Corvo took a step back to reaffirm that another kiss wasn't welcome. "I am. Taken." The words sounded strange on his tongue.

Martin's frown deepened.

Corvo mirrored his expression. "Daud," he said, carefully. Surely the Overseer had known that..?

Martin's brow furrowed further, looking an unhealthy blend of puzzled and discouraged. But then, suddenly, his eyes widened in realisation.

"You- and _Daud-_ The both of you are-" He stopped, mortified, and ran a hand over his face. "By the Stars, you're- Oh, by the Stars."

Corvo stared at him. Martin couldn't have been faking his response; no one turned that faint shade of red on purpose.

"You didn't-?"

"Know. No. I didn't," Martin answered, the words muffled slightly behind the hand covering his face. "Oh, Void, no wonder he keeps looking at me like that. I assumed it was because I'm," He gestured to his robes.

Corvo blinked.

"I should have _noticed-_ At the hound cages, when you and he were stood-" Martin continued to cut himself off, humiliation clear in his voice. "I thought he was just being protective," he finished at last, "because you work together. I hadn't even _thought_ the two of you were... involved like that."

Corvo felt a stab of guilt. He should have realised what Martin wanted from him, so he could have spared the man his embarrassment now.

The Overseer dropped his hand, pride in tact enough to meet Corvo's eyes. "Please, forgive me. My behaviour has been utterly out of line, I feel like such a fool," he said, and Corvo felt another, _meaner_ guilty stab at the man's sincerity. "I truly had no idea."

"I didn't realise," Corvo muttered. "That you were interested."

Martin raised his eyebrows, bemused. "I feared I was being _overly_ obvious, if anything."

"I'm not good with those things."

The Overseer seemed to sympathise, if his soft smile was any indication. "Neither am I. I kicked myself after every time I spoke to you," he confessed with a small, still somewhat mortified laugh. "It's been quite some time since anyone's caught my interest so."

"I'm sorry, Martin." And he meant it. He should have cleared this up a lot sooner.

"Don't be, please. It was my misunderstanding." Martin glanced towards the pub, running a hand through his hair. "I have to say, the fault for this _is_ mine, undoubtedly," he began, holding up a hand when Corvo made to argue, "but Daud and yourself aren't particularly... evident?"

"Evident?"

"Your... association with one another. It isn't easy to tell."

That didn't come as a surprise to Corvo. Neither of them were open with their affections, even among their own people. And among virtual strangers at the Hound Pits, Corvo wouldn't blame anyone for not suspecting he and Daud were something closer than master and follower.

"Daud's-"

"A private person," Martin guessed. "That, I _can_ tell. Though I almost wish he'd come to speak with me himself, he had clearly seen that I was attracted to you. It may have saved us both some discomfort today."

"I'll talk to him."

"I don't envy you that privilege. He doesn't seem the most approachable of people," Martin remarked. "I have to admit, though I may not be particularly fond of him, nor him me, I hope he knows how fortunate a man he is."

Corvo's gaze flit to the ground. He felt heat creep up the back of his neck.

"Anyone would be, Corvo. Honesty and intelligence such as yours is seldom come across in such a drab city as this," Martin said, amused by Corvo's sudden shyness. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable," he added gently.

"You're not," Corvo lied through his teeth.

Martin gave a chuckle. "It astounds me that you aren't more aware of yourself. You're a very fine man." He hesitated, wetting his lips, wanting to say more. "Are you certain there's no chance..? To change your mind, perhaps. None at all?"

"No. I'm sorry." He wasn't sorry, not for that. He was Daud's. But Corvo hoped an apology would soften the rebuff.

"I see." Martin granted him a regretful smile. "My loss, then. Though I have to ask. May we at least remain friends? I have enjoyed our conversation these last few weeks. And with an appropriate change in my approach," he added sheepishly, "I'd still like to get to know you better."

He held out a hand. An understanding. A peace offering.

For the first time since setting foot in the Hound Pits, Corvo saw Martin instead of the blue and gold of his Overseer robes. The man who enjoyed Morley whisky and used to be a thief. Who, as a younger man, had by chance found a home as unlikely as Corvo's.

He realised that Martin was someone he'd like to know better, too. Now that they'd straightened things out.

He took the Overseer's gloved hand in his. "I'd like that, as well."

And suddenly, the prospect of _friends_ didn't sound too impossible, after all.


	5. A heart to heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daud hadn't realised he'd moved until he was downstairs, rounding the bar, and he was hearing the sickening crack of Martin's jaw against his fist.

"Quinn and Yuri are my best scouts." _Though Quinn would probably gripe on about being chosen for the job_. Daud decided to leave that part out. "I'll have them scavenge a few Districts. Just let them know what you need."

The Admiral nodded, satisfied. "Good, good. I must say, your men's skills are much more... diverse than expected."

Daud gave a thin smile. "They're not mere killers, Admiral. It would be unwise to underestimate them." _Us_ , he also left out. He didn't want to sound like he was making threats. And Havelock had proven himself to be a much more tolerable man than Daud himself had first expected.

"Of course." Havelock stood from the desk, and Daud did the same, putting out his cigarette in the Admiral's ashtray. "If that's all, then."

Their meeting ended, Havelock crossed the room and reached for the door handle, only for the door to pull open before he made contact.

 _Never so much as a knock_ , Daud reprimanded in his head. Corvo was the same in Rudshore. The man just walked into the office whenever the fancy took him.

"Corvo," Havelock greeted, surprised. "Was there something you needed?"

"Are you both finished?"

The Admiral's eyebrows almost met his hairline. It was the expression, Daud noted, of one not yet familiar with Corvo's blunt nature. An expression he'd made himself, once upon a time. Years ago.

"For today, yes. I believe we've discussed everything we need to."

Corvo nodded once, then glanced at Daud. "Come with me."

And he turned back out into the hallway. Expectant. Confident that he'd be followed.

 _Haughty bastard_. Daud brushed past the Admiral, and trailed Corvo along the corridor. Corvo's shoulders were pulled together, his posture noticeably stiff. Daud suddenly struggled to dismiss the trepidation those telltale signs caused him. 

Something had happened.Something worthy of discussing with Daud, alone.

"Corvo." Daud took his arm, only lightly. He didn't want to worsen the man's discomfort; Corvo had a habit of disappearing when he became cornered, for hours at a time in some circumstances. "Pendleton's gone to the Manor."

Daud tugged him into the nobleman's empty bedroom. Dimly lit. Quiet. Isolated. The space would at least help to put Corvo more at ease.

He watched Corvo take in the room, dark eyes flitting over the window, the few portraits, Pendleton's audioplayer. Daud suspected the man was just as tempted to listen to its contents. But there was clearly something more pressing on Corvo's mind for now.

"How did you know?"

"Know?"

"That I wanted to talk."

Daud almost smiled. "You aren't subtle."

Corvo did smile, slightly. "Could've wanted something else."

"You weren't leading me upstairs. And you're frowning far too much to have such a thing on your mind." Daud savoured the glare Corvo shot him. Then his tone grew more sombre, as he closed the space between them and took Corvo's jaw in one hand. His thumb traced the burn marks there. "It isn't like you, to stall like this. What is it?"

In the lantern's dull light, Daud saw Corvo's jaw tense, as well as felt it. He had a second or two for another wave of trepidation to unsteady him, before the answer came.

"Martin kissed me."

It took a further second for the words to register, and when they did, the displeasure that infested him was absurd. It was a strangely similar feeling to drowning, a comparison which was every bit as absurd, he admitted. But he _had_ almost drowned once. Along the coast of Cullero as a boy, having swam into harsher waves too far from the shore. It was a memory he hadn't thought of in years.

He remembered the way the salt water had filled and dried out his lungs, making his throat raw and muscles ache for days following, making it difficult to speak without feeling like his bones would shatter. Imagining Martin and Corvo seemed to have the same effect. Imagining them-

Daud hadn't realised he'd moved until he was downstairs, rounding the bar, and he was hearing the sickening crack of Martin's jaw against his fist.

He watched a few spots of the Overseer's blood drip onto the carpet.

"Bastard-"

"Curse it," Martin muttered, annoyed, examining the dark red patch now staining his coat. He worked his bruised jaw. "These were the only robes I brought with me."

"I'll make certain you're buried in them." Daud couldn't deny, the blood trickling from Martin's lips was a sight he'd imagined since they'd met. It wasn't enough.

"Perhaps _I'm_ the one mistaken, Corvo," Martin said evenly, glancing behind Daud to where Corvo had followed. "Some of you, it would seem, are more savage than others."

"I see that smart fucking mouth of yours still works," Daud snarled. "How dare you touch him-"

"You'll find that empty threats do little to coerce me, assassin-"

"Then I'll be sure to make good on them-"

Corvo grabbed his arm from behind when Daud surged forward again. Martin had taken a few steps back.

"That's enough." Corvo gripped his arm, tightly. He glanced once at Martin, making sure the man had backed away far enough to be out of danger. Satisfied, Corvo circled in front of Daud, keeping him back with a hand to his chest. "Stop."

"Stop?" He felt himself shaking under Corvo's hold. "He-"

Corvo tightened his hold on Daud's wrist, reining him back.

"So you did tell him. Evidently," Martin remarked, dusting off the shoulder of his coat. "Did you also tell him what happened afterwards, or did he make his way here before you had the chance?"

"You aren't helping," Corvo told him coldly. He gave a resolute tug to Daud's arm, "With me. Now."

Martin retook his seat at the bar. The area was empty barring the Overseer. Daud had noticed now that the red had dulled a little from his vision. Had any of his men been present, they'd have likely joined him in his assault. It wouldn't have been the first time they had rushed to his aid, having no more context other than an Overseer was getting punched.

 _This_ Overseer took a slow sip of his whisky, watching Daud leave with narrowed eyes and a gradually swelling jaw. Daud wanted to break his jaw entirely, certain another blow would have done it. But Corvo was pulling him from the room, and Daud wouldn't contest him. He could have overpowered him, easily. But he'd never.

They were halfway up the flight of stairs when he was finally released and Corvo turned to face him. The man was one stair above, putting them at an equal height, and Daud found himself the victim of Corvo's icy gaze.

"What the Void was that?"

"I'd have killed him-"

"No," Corvo said sharply. "You're not proving anything to me, Daud."

"You expect me to do nothing? After he-"

"I was about to explain, before you-"

"Explain," Daud sneered. "What happened _afterwards."_

"Yes."

 _Afterwards._ That's what the Overseer had said. The anger was bad, but the dread that word held was worse. The dread hurt. Questions began to seethe in Daud's mind. When? Where? What was said? What did it mean? What happened _afterwards?_

_Do you still feel the same about me?_

"You shouldn't have stopped me. He ought to-"

Corvo took his hand, interrupting him, and continued up the stairs until they were back safely inside Pendleton's bedroom. A firmly closed door was now blocking Daud's path to the Overseer.

"You're overreacting."

"I'm not," Daud bit out. He wasn't overreacting, not this time. If anything, he wasn't reacting _enough._ The Overseer was still able to breathe.

Corvo's lithe body pushed against his, messy locks nestled under his chin, and fingers thread themselves through his own, neater hair. An attempt to calm him down. "Martin didn't know I was with you."

"Didn't he," Daud grunted, stubbornly grasping hold of his anger, when all he wanted to do was sag into Corvo's arms and _stay there_.

"He said our association isn't..." Corvo said slowly, trying to recall the exact words, "evident."

Daud didn't know whether to laugh of scoff. What left him was a mixture of the two. "Sounds like something that clever prick would say."

"He's... alright."

Daud did scoff at that, despite the jagged twinge Corvo's words caused him. "Alright? I have to disagree. No matter if we're _evident_ or not, he doesn't have the right to touch you like that."

He felt Corvo's lips curving into a short-lived smile against his throat. "You're ridiculous."

 _Sorry. I'm ridiculous_ , Corvo had said, weeks ago, teary eyed in the cabin of Lizzy's ship after telling Daud he loved him for the first time. _That_ had meant something. More than Martin, Daud had to hope. Hope was for fools, he knew, but Daud was surely the biggest fool of them all. Outsider's eyes, he hoped.

"If you're finished trying to kill things. Can we talk?"

"Forthright little shit," Daud muttered, but the insult was fond, and soothed with a chaste kiss to the top of Corvo's head. Daud's chest felt even heavier than before, but it wasn't a bad feeling this time, and he felt the tension ease from his shoulders. He forced himself to think, reason, look past the red haze in his vision and _concentrate._ They had both been so distant over the past few days, spoken so little, thanks to Daud's fear and Corvo's confusion over his behaviour. He didn't want that. He wanted _this._ "Yes. We can talk."

Corvo gently pulled back, and shifted away now that Daud was no longer a safety risk. He hopped up onto Pendleton's table, perching there. His eyes were trained on the floor. "Martin said you must have seen what he... wanted from me. Why didn't you say something to him? Or... to me, at least."

His hesitancy, awkwardness, would have normally been endearing. Now, Daud could feel his heart splintering, little by little. He knew too well that he could have prevented this entire cpnversation, and in turn prevented Corvo's discomfort. At that thought, he dispised himself more than he dispised Martin.

"You always talk to me," Corvo continued, edging his gaze up to Daud's. "You're always honest. Why not this time?"

"Please don't look at me like that." The sincerity of Corvo's question made his heart ache, and the man's expression; like a kicked wolfhound pup, brown eyes frowning up at him.

_Tell him_

"I was going to talk to you, under the tower."

_Stop tripping over yourself like a bumbling fool, and tell him_

"After you'd fixed your mask."

_Void, why is this so difficult_

"I thought-"

"You thought I'd want Martin. If I knew he was interested. " Corvo sounded all of a sudden surer. Still hesitant, but as though he'd seen something that should have been apparent all along.

And Daud couldn't have lied to him. No matter if he'd wanted to or not. "Yes. I thought that."

Corvo looked entirely unimpressed. "Martin's not..." He searched for the right words, becoming agitated when he couldn't find them. "You," he decided on, eventually, frustratedly. "He's not you." Those three words held so much sentiment.

Daud heard it.

_There's no one else_

_There hasn't been anyone else_

_There's never been anyone but you_

He stepped forward, two meagre steps that felt like miles, and cupped Corvo's jaw in both hands, pressing his lips to his forehead. "I should have spoken to you. Void, I knew you wouldn't notice what Martin... It was cruel of me," Daud confessed against his hair. He knew didn't need to say any more than that. He should have spoken to Corvo of his own accord, the man wouldn't have to be having this discussion now, so clearly uncomfortable. "Forgive me."

"You're forgiven." There was no faltering, just vague amusement and relief in Corvo's voice. He had taken Daud's wrists, holding them in place. Daud dared to hope a little more. "Martin apologised, when I told him about us."

"Did he, now."

"He did," Corvo assured. "That's what happened, afterwards. I'd have told you that _before_ you punched him," he pointed out. "That was shitty of you."

"I don't regret it."

"I don't regret punching Julian all those times." At Daud questioning look, Corvo gave a small, hardly noticeable smirk. That familiar, infuriating expression. He was about to be unbearably smart-mouthed about something. "You always told me to come to you when something like that happened. To talk to you."

"Alright-"

"Not start fights."

"Alright, you've made your point. Very clever," Daud growled. But he softened at the sight of Corvo's complacent smile. "You'll be my ruin, yet."

"You're doing well enough with that on your own, attacking an Overseer."

"I can handle one cultist bastard."

"I said, you're not proving anything to me." Corvo leaned back, just slightly, just so he could meet Daud's eyes properly. "Leave Martin be. He apologised. I don't think he meant any harm."

 _A snake looks harmless, too, without legs or claws_ , Daud considered. _Harmless, until coiled around your throat and squeezing the air from your lungs_.

"I'm not asking you to like him or trust him. Daud," Corvo pressed forward and kissed him, once, gently, "for me. Please leave him alone."

Daud had never intended to like or trust the man, even before all this started. He intended to despise him with every fibre off his being. But he could only be so obstinate, and refusing Corvo went beyond the lengths of his willpower.

"My utter ruin," Daud muttered. "You have my word," he conceded. "I won't touch him, so long as he-"

"He won't try anything again." Corvo stretched up and granted him another kiss, this one slower, lingering. "And we'll-"

"Talk." Daud ran his fingers through Corvo's hair, trying to smooth it. His efforts only worked to muss it further. "Next time, we'll talk-"

"There won't be a next time."

And on hearing the conviction in Corvo's voice, Daud suddenly grasped the meaning behind his teasing. _You're ridiculous_. He must have seen Daud following him, keeping watch on the Overseer, and not knowing _why._ Corvo was always confident of himself, of what he was feeling. Of what he wanted. Perhaps he expected Daud to be as certain of those things as he himself was, forgetting not everyone was so stubbornly sure. To him, Daud's behaviour must have seemed ridiculous, indeed. It was more Daud's own obstinacy than Martin's interest that could have driven Corvo from him, he thought bitterly.

"You're maddeningly certain about everything, aren't you," he grunted. "It astounds me."

"Your drama astounds me."

"As does your impudence," Daud bit back, but it was half-hearted.

"Daud." Corvo was giving him that look again; intense dark eyes peering up from behind his hair, brows arched. "We'll be okay."

 _That,_ now at least, Daud felt certain of. "We'll be okay."

***

Feodor watched the novice's expression closely. Aeolos' brows were furrowed, concentrated on the voices coming from the other side of the door.

"Well?"

After another few seconds ticked by, Aeolos nodded. "It sounds like they've worked it out."

Feodor sagged in relief, until the Whalers gathered with him around the door began cheering. Then he hissed at them to keep their voices down.

They all whispered their apologies.

"Phew, though. Right?" Quinn grinned, giving a dramatic wipe of his brow. "I was almost worried."

"Nonsense," Feodor answered. "Little thing like this couldn't have lasted. I wasn't concerned at all."

"This was _your_ idea," Aeolos pointed out.

"That is irrelevant."

"If it's his idea, does that mean we can blame 'im when the boss catches us snoopin'?"

Feodor's expression soured. "We shan't get caught, Arden. So long as you lot can keep your traps shut."

"Ignore him, Fee. He's just pissed off that we didn't get to fight Martin in the end."

"Quinn," Feodor sighed, "we were never going to fight Martin-"

"I dunno," Jenkins cut in. "Daud looked pretty shittin' serious to me. Did you see that punch?" The Whaler was bouncing in excitement.

"Daud doesn't need to know we were there," Feodor said, rubbing his temples. "We shouldn't have been spying through the windows, anyway."

Aeolos shot him an unamused look. "We're spying _now_."

"I almost jumped in," Quinn said, across whatever retort Feodor had been about to let off. "In the bar, I mean. Thought things would get ugly for a minute. Got to have the boss' back, right?"

Thomas nodded solemnly, sat with his back against the wall.

"Well, as it is, there's been no fight and no fallout. And you owe me thirty coin, Aeolos," Feodor added to the novice. "I did say this afternoon."

"You did," Aeolos agreed. "Honestly hoped they would have talked things out sooner."

Jenkins gave a groan. "I said it'd be _Tuesday."_

"Bad bet, Jen," Arden said, flicking a few coins down to Thomas. "I reckoned tonight, latest. 'pparently they ain't as dim as we thought."

"You let me down, Attano," Quinn sighed. "Couldn't have chosen tomorrow to notice that you're Overseer eye candy?"

They scarpered when Arden's bark of laughter carried into Pendleton's room and drew Daud's attention. The door flew open, but only Thomas and Aeolos were seen. The former offered an apologetic "Sir," before following the others to the safety of the rooftops.

The latter remained stood in the hallway.

Daud raised an eyebrow, expectant. Waiting for an explanation.

"If you'd talked to him when I said you should," Aeolos began coolly. As though discussing the weather. "I'd be eighty coin richer."

The novice was threatened with doubled scouting runs for life, but the Whaler knew Daud wouldn't make good on those threats. Even as he barked out his reprimands, their leader's silent appreciation was plain each time Aeolos met his eye.


	6. A respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm glad it's me," he said quietly. He knew his confidence would falter once the haze of sex had faded from his mind, but for now he cared none for how sentimental he sounded.

Cecilia, by some miracle, managed not to spill a drop of tea when Corvo's blade went for her throat. She did scream however, and that was enough to rouse Daud, who made a lunge for his own sword.

Corvo kept him back with a hand on his shoulder, and sighed through his steadily receding adrenaline. "Cecilia."

"I-I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I- I was just-" The maid's hands were shaking terribly, causing the crockery balanced on the tray to rattle together. Corvo felt his eyebrow twitch at the sound. "Lydia said it might do for me to- to bring tea, so I-"

"I doubt she was serious." But Corvo did feel a stab of sympathy for the girl. Lydia could be an awful tease, and Cecilia was a favoured victim of the older maid's ruthless wit. "As nice a thought," Corvo continued, motioning to the tray with the hand still holding his weapon, "the servants know not to come up here."

Corvo counted the girl's blessings that Daud hadn't yet installed the tripwire mechanism he'd mentioned; an extra security measure, in the case of intruders. Daud was nothing if not thorough. And exceptionally paranoid.

"Y-yes, Master Corvo. I-" Cecilia bowed her head, ashamed and embarrassed. And still a touch terrified as her wide eyes darted to Corvo's blade. He kept it sharpened. "Please forgive me."

Corvo bit hard on the inside of his cheek, to reign in a remark about this whole 'Master' business. The servants seemed adamant about addressing him as such, and he'd found some time ago that any argument against it was futile.

"You're forgiven," he said, at last withdrawing his sword. Cecilia visibly relaxed, if only slightly. "But you'd do well not to heed a word Lydia says in the future. It may be Daud that gets to you next time."

The maid cast a frightful look Daud's way, and Corvo had to admit his lover did an excellent job to reinforce the unspoken danger behind his warning. He did look rather menacing that daybreak; framed by the dull early morning light, hair dishevelled from sleep, scars on show across his chest. And Corvo imagined that to someone less knowing, the drowsiness and mild irritation in Daud's eyes probably looked more like anger.

Cecilia scurried back the way she'd come, before realising she still held the tea tray. She panicked, glimpsed around, and carefully deposited it on one of the nearby chairs. Bowing hurriedly once more, she fled the attic room.

Daud let his weapon clatter to the floor. He collapsed back onto the mattress, grumbling something unintelligible against his pillow.

"At least we were dressed," Corvo mused, storing his own blade back beside the bed. He paced to the abandoned tray and scrunched up his nose as he examined its contents. "Tea. Tyvian?"

"Courtesy of Lord Pendleton," Daud answered, voice still muffled as he crossed his arms beneath his head. "Only the finest for a high strung prick like that."

"Next time I scout back to Rudshore, I'm taking Hobson's coffee."

"If the man gives you any lip for it, say I ordered you to." Daud cracked an eye open and peered over at the tray. "I can smell that fancy shit from here."

To prove his bravery, Corvo poured some tea into one of the mugs and took a sip. He hummed his surprise, "Not that bad. Might hold you over till I get the coffee."

Daud grunted, still eying the beverage with great suspicion. "Bring it, then," he conceded after a short internal debate. "Outsider forbid we waste Pendleton's expensive tea."

Corvo smiled at the man's gruff tone, and poured another cup. He brought them over, handing one to Daud as the man shuffled to sit upright against the wall. Corvo blew steam from his own while he perched cross-legged on the bed. A comfortable bed, more comfortable than Daud's. Corvo didn't particularly like it. He wasn't used to soft beds for good reason; soft beds meant difficulty waking up. He much preferred the tough, barely slept on mattresses in Rudshore.

Daud grimaced when he drank. "Liar. _Not that bad_. Tastes as bad as it smells." But he took another sip nevertheless. His caffeine withdrawal must have been worse than he was letting on.

"Careful, you'll be drinking Pendleton's wine too soon enough. Talking about 'fruity notes' and all that nonsense you can't stand," Corvo ribbed.

"You have permission to end my life, should I ever consider such a thing," Daud retorted, giving his tea one last decisive studying before dumping the mug on the desk beside the bed. "Now come here."

Corvo stubbornly kept hold of his own cup, but moved into the warmth of Daud's arms. He leaned back against his bare chest, pleased when Daud gave an irritated grunt.

"Get rid of it. The smell’s starting to offend me." Daud glared over Corvo's shoulder at the tea, as though it would become scared and disappear. It had worked on Cecilia, Corvo granted.

"Perhaps it's starting to grow on me." It wasn't, but any excuse to exasperate Daud and Corvo would take it. Little pleasures. Plus the man's hands always roamed more impatiently when he was being teased. Right then, they seemed resolute on mapping out Corvo's hipbones beneath the waistband of his trousers.

"Growing on you, is it? Then perhaps you'll be the one tasting wine with Pendleton before long," Daud warned, mouth pressed against the curve between Corvo's throat and shoulder. "Watch that you don't become as spoiled and prissy as His Lordship. You're already more of a brat than I can bear, most days."

"Being spoiled looks alright," Corvo remarked, discarding his cup onto the floor in favour of straddling Daud's lap. He laced his hands over Daud's shoulders, enjoying the play of hard muscle beneath his skin. "Pendleton seems content enough, having Wallace wait on him hand and foot."

"Content," Daud scoffed. His hands had found their way under his own shirt, which hung loosely from Corvo's frame. Corvo felt two fingers trace the contour of his spine. "That nobleman wouldn't be content if all the Isles bent to his whim. Bastard always has a complaint about something. Intolerable."

"Not your breed of man?"

"Not my breed of man," Daud agreed, and his hips appeared to agree too, as they ground up against Corvo's own as Corvo nibbled at his throat. "And what about you?"

The question almost made Corvo laugh. Only the feeling of Daud's hardening length against his thigh stopped the sound from forming. Comparing Daud and Trevor Pendleton was like trying to find similarities between a proud wolfhound and a simpering rat. It was impossible.

"I'd sooner shoot him than have him come near me."

"If you're sure," Daud said, catching his jaw with one hand and kissing him, long and slowly, and Corvo wound his fingers in Daud's hair to prevent him moving anywhere but closer.

Their rocking against one another turned insistent, and Daud tried to tug the shirt over Corvo's head rather than tackle the buttons. The cloth became twisted and the neckline stuck covering Corvo's eyes, leaving his arms tangled above his head. Corvo tried to wriggle free while Daud chuckled at him.

"I'm stuck."

"I can see that, yes," came the amused reply.

Corvo glared beneath his soft constraints, trying to twist free once more. "Get it off."

"I fear I'm rather enjoying the sight." He could hear Daud's pleased smile.

And he glowered when he was rolled onto his back and his captured arms were held down near the headboard. He couldn't see through the shirt, but he could feel Daud's eyes on him, grazing over his exposed skin, and the man's fingers began to do the same. Starting at the burn marks on his jaw, always, Daud's thumb moved to brush over Corvo's bottom lip, then down along the hollow of his neck.

Soon the playful air between them grew heavier, heady, and Daud's hands framed his waist, fingertips kneading restlessly while his teeth scraped Corvo's neck, marking the skin faintly at first, then more forcefully, making Corvo's hips writhe under Daud's weight. Corvo had soon stopped struggling against the shirt's restraints on his arms, the deprivation of his sight and restrictions of his movement adding a level of unexpected bliss. Daud pushed the waistband of his trousers down to stroke him, and took a nipple into his mouth, rubbing the ridges of the puckered skin against his tongue. Corvo could have been finished like this easily, crying out and spilling hot in Daud's hand while he sucked hard on his nipples. It was a delicious and obscene thought, but Corvo wanted Daud beneath him, wanted to feel him come undone against him.

"Enough of that," he said breathlessly, nudging Daud's hip with his knee in the hope to urge him out of his fun. Daud gave another chuckle at his impatience, returning to mouth at his neck, but Corvo felt himself finally being freed from the confines of the shirt. A few choice tugs and it was gone, and Daud was kissing him before Corvo had time to blink against the gradually brightening dawn assaulting them from the attic's windows.

He made quick work of kicking his trousers off fully, and he hitched a leg over Daud's hip and rotated their positions against the mattress. He knew Daud purposefully didn't resist him, though he could have, effortlessly; Corvo far from matched his strength. He dipped his head and licked a line from the muscles of Daud's pelvis to his abs as he rid the man of his own trousers. Corvo preened under the low groan his performance gained him. He had gotten much better at this over time, Corvo credited himself, compared to the wary, unsure thing he'd been when they'd first lain together.

He moved further atop Daud, pressing his lips beneath the sharp jut of his jaw to feel him swallow roughly. Corvo tilted his head sidelong to watch their bodies rock together, hips joined to rut against each other. Calloused fingers outlined Corvo's back, following the taut muscles until they reached the whip scars crisscrossing over his skin. Reminders of his time spent captured on the ship that had brought him to Dunwall. To Daud. Daud splayed his hand against them, the scar tissue sensitive and warm, and Corvo arched his back, pushed his hips down, and felt Daud's stubble scratch against his shoulder as teeth dug along his collarbone.

 _This was what he'd wanted_ , and there was an animal satisfaction to it, grinding feverishly and mindlessly together, Daud's hands gripping his flesh, urging him on harder. Corvo arched his hips, chasing the thick slide of Daud's cock trapped alongside his own against their stomachs. They were both close, breathless and aching for release. Daud's fingers gripped him tightly, pressing into his thighs, muscles shivering with tension. The feeling of him made Corvo come, groaning into the man's neck and pressing into his hips, feeling the heat of his own release painting his front.

Battling through his blissful haze, Corvo pulled away quickly, denying the older man of the contact and friction he so desperately needed. Daud's hips strained and something close to a snarl rumbled from him. "Bastard-"

Corvo slid down his body and shut him up with a teasing bite to his hipbone. Daud's cock lay heavy and thick against his stomach, and Corvo licked the protruding vein that ran the length before swallowing him down, revelling in the stuttered moan it caused Daud. Corvo had gotten rather good at this, too, he credited again. Not that Daud needed much right then, with how close he'd been. A few hard sucks, his lips folding around the head, and Corvo felt Daud come down his throat, coating his tongue as he shuddered underneath Corvo's attentions.

Corvo winced slightly at the fingers that had gripped his hair in Daud's desperation, but he supposed he deserved that. They soon released him anyway, and Corvo let Daud's softening cock slide from his lips. He pushed himself up on shaky arms, wiping his chin with the back of a hand.

"Bastard," Daud repeated, softer this time, fonder.

Corvo slung himself off the bed and paced to the faucet. He grabbed the rag hanging over the tap and began to clean himself off. "Tea's gone cold," he said idly, glancing down at his long deserted cup.

"What a shame," Daud muttered, stretching back on the bed. He looked like a sated wolfhound, stretching languidly across his space.

Corvo drank in the sight, still after all these weeks together unable to believe that he was wanted by such a man.

He discarded the rag, staying leaned over the faucet. "I'm glad it's me," he said quietly. He knew his confidence would falter once the haze of sex had faded from his mind, but for now he cared none for how sentimental he sounded.

He heard Daud's questioning noise. "What, now?

"You know," he said helpfully. "That its me. And not someone else, like Pendleton."

Daud made another noise, this one understanding. And faintly amused. "Soft-hearted fool."

The closest thing to hand was one of Corvo's boots, and he tossed it at Daud's chest. The desired affect was an apology, or a bruise at least, but all he got was laughter. Still, Corvo's glare lightened at the sound. Daud had seldom laughed since they'd come here. It was good to hear it, Corvo thought, even at his own expense.

“I’m glad it’s you, as well.”

Corvo felt responsible for the hesitancy of Daud’s voice. Their conversation the afternoon before was still hanging over them both, but Corvo hoped things between them would ease, as the days went on. Daud surely had to know there was only him. Corvo thought that had been obvious from the beginning.

He walked to the bed, and sprawled into Daud’s awaiting arms. Their distance of the last few days seemed to have ended, at least. Corvo was very grateful for that. It had felt like those ten years again, when Corvo had kept his distance from Daud by habit. When he hadn’t known how to act, hadn’t known what he could and couldn’t say for fear of giving himself away.

Now knowing how it felt to wake and see the other man beside him... Corvo never wanted to return to the time before he’d known that sight.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise about Martin. I forgot to say so before.”

Daud grunted. “I thought we’d established it was my fault.”

“It was.” Corvo closed his eyes at the sound of Daud’s annoyed huff. “But it’s mine too. I didn’t mean to make you feel-”

A kiss to the top of his head interrupted him. “I know. Void, I know how you are. Most oblivious man in the Isles.”

“Rulfio said the same.”

“Must be true, then. Rulfio's an intelligent man.”

“Hm.” Corvo’s frown deepened, recalling something else he and Rulfio had spoken of. “Do you think it’s strange? That I’ve never wanted someone else?”

“Strange?” Daud seemed to contemplate the word. After a moment or two, he pulled Corvo further up his chest and met his gaze. “Do you think it strange that Leonid has never wanted anyone? Or that Arden’s lain with half the women in Gristol?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’s what they want.”

Daud brushed some rogue strands of hair away from Corvo's eyes. “People want what they want, Corvo. Who am I to say otherwise. Truthfully, I'm honoured there's been no one else. I know there have been others for me, in the past." He paused, thumb tracing the sharp line of Corvo's jaw. Unhurried. Reverent. "None of them were like you. None of them will ever be."

The words made Corvo's throat turn dry, all of a sudden. He didn't know how to answer. Whether he _should_ answer. How was one to respond to words as Star-sent as those?

Daud smiled slightly at his silence, expecting nothing in reply. He caught Corvo's hand and brought his knuckles to his lips."Though none of that’s to say I don’t find you strange anyway.”

Corvo glared.

It had barely gone sunrise, and he curled closer to Daud, deciding he could spare more time here before getting to work for the day. He needed to check in on Aeolos and the others, get their reports from scouting the District. He'd probably have to see Piero, discuss something or other with Havelock and Martin as well. Put on a front as he spoke to each of them, become guarded and cold and focused, all of which came easy enough to him.

But here, in the shelter of Daud's arms and his gentle ridicule, he could rest for a while longer at least.

***

Later that morning, Martin came to him with Emily’s location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments everyone, this one was a lot of fun.
> 
> I have a few more oneshot requests to write before the summer, and then hopefully I can get this AU's sequel underway.
> 
> Special thanks to Aescela and Aeniala for their unwavering support, you've both been with me on this from the beginning <333


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